Olympic Wrap-up, and Warped-up


How about those Olympics, huh? That closing ceremony last night was fabulous!

I know, I know, the Olympics ended over a month ago but thanks to DVR it just ended for me yesterday. The weeks of the Olympics were so crazy busy for me I couldn’t spend hours parked on the couch watching it live, even though I really really wanted to.

I love the Olympics, I live for the Olympics and thanks to modern technology I could still drench myself in Olympic spirit for a whole extra month to watch every bit of it at my convenience. Well, not every bit of it because one can only take so much water polo footage.

I was able to catch a few of the major events live and watch recordings late at night while I licked wedding invitation envelopes. I avoided any/all news and updates about Olympic results during and since because I wanted to feel like it was happening live while I watched. It has made for some awkward conversations recently though, like when I say, “Poor Ryan Lochte. The guy stops for gas and gets held at gunpoint for no reason!”

Even though the Olympics ended last night for me and last month for the rest of the world, the effect of the Olympics goes on forever for the athletes. Some athletes went from obscurity to superstardom, and some athletes went from national ace to international disgrace (I caught up on the Lochte incident).

While I enjoy watching the sporting events, what I love most about the Olympics are the athletes’ stories. Some are inspiring, some are heartbreaking. There’s an athlete who’s taken fourth place in four consecutive Olympics. Four times just missing the podium! What kept her coming back? What makes anyone devote the best years of their life to train for a pipe dream? A chance at glory.

The odds of winning an Olympic gold medal are 22 million to 1. Not very promising, but can you imagine how it would feel if you’re that one?

I can.

Well, I try to.

That’s what I do when I’m power walking on the treadmill, canning tomatoes, folding laundry, doing dishes or licking envelopes while binge watching the Olympics. I imagine myself crossing that finish line, sticking that landing, clearing that height, touching that wall, hitting that target, achieving that distance, slamming, jamming, kicking, throwing or spiking that ball, pinning, knocking out or stabbing that final opponent for the gold!

I don’t care what sport, I would just love to experience that over-the-top exhilaration of a spectacular achievement.

I visualize it. I’ve acted it out. I’ve shed real fake tears of joy. I’ve rehearsed what I would say to Bob Costas in my exclusive interview. I’d be a noble but gracious champion. I’ve lived a simple and quiet life next to a field where lamas graze, and it’s a good life I’m grateful for. But I would love a shot at living large.

I just married off one kid, sent another off to college, the last one is in the home stretch of high school and I have a ping pong table in my basement! Olympics, here I come! (I’ve already warned I’m in midlife crisis.)







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